As I stepped onto the sparring ground, the chatter of the students around us dulled, leaving only the crisp rustling of leaves in the breeze. The duel between Leon and Darius had set a high bar for the day, and now all eyes were on me and Lyra Aetherial.
Lyra stood across from me, her posture relaxed yet exuding confidence. She adjusted the wooden bow in her hand, its polished surface glinting faintly in the sunlight. Her emerald-green eyes gleamed with determination, and her golden hair was tied back in a ponytail, allowing her full focus to rest on the match ahead. Her aura spoke volumes: she was proud, skilled, and utterly convinced of her inevitable victory.
A faint smirk tugged at her lips. "You seem calm for someone about to lose," she said, her voice carrying over the quiet training ground. There was no malice in her tone—just a statement of fact, or at least what she believed to be fact.
I remained silent, gripping the wooden sword lightly in my hand. Words wouldn't win this fight.
Our instructor, Lady Isolde Draymoor, a veteran with years of battle experience etched into her sharp gaze, stepped forward. "This is a practice duel, not a grudge match. Focus on your techniques. No dangerous strikes. Now, begin!"
The instant she gave the signal, Lyra wasted no time. She moved with the grace of a seasoned hunter, nocking an arrow faster than most would blink. With a subtle swirl of her fingers, a faint green aura enveloped the arrow—it wasn't just an ordinary shot; it was imbued with her wind magic.
The arrow whistled through the air, but I was already moving. My psychokinesis kicked in as I subtly nudged the trajectory, causing the arrow to veer off course and lodge harmlessly into the dirt. I saw her eyes widen, just slightly, before narrowing again.
"Interesting," she murmured. "Let's see how you handle this."
Lyra leaped into the air, a burst of wind carrying her effortlessly upward. She spun midair and loosed three arrows in rapid succession. Each arrow curved unnaturally, guided by her magic, as they raced toward me from different angles.
I inhaled deeply, focusing. The air seemed to slow around me as I extended my psychokinetic sense. With a flick of my will, I altered the course of two arrows, sending them spiraling harmlessly into the ground. The third I deflected with my sword, the wooden blade vibrating slightly from the impact.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"He's deflecting her attacks like it's nothing," one student whispered.
Another muttered, "Is he really just a commoner? No way someone like that isn't hiding something."
Lyra wasn't deterred. In fact, her expression shifted into something sharper, more focused. She landed gracefully and immediately dashed to the side, her movements a blur. Her wind magic enhanced her speed, making it difficult to pin her down.
She fired another volley, this time with more precision. I felt a faint twinge in my mind as one of the arrows curved back toward me after passing, a feint meant to catch me off guard. Clever.
But not enough.
I ducked, then thrust my hand slightly outward, psychokinetically gripping my wooden sword and launching it in a spinning arc. Lyra's eyes widened as the blade whirled toward her, forcing her to leap high into the air, her wind magic propelling her upward.
I caught the sword as it returned to me, the hilt landing perfectly in my hand. "You're impressive," I said finally, breaking my silence. "But this won't be easy for either of us."
Lyra's smile returned, this time laced with excitement. "Good. I hate easy fights."
With a flourish, she created a whirlwind around herself, kicking up dust and debris. The wind coalesced into a sharp, visible edge around her as she descended, launching a crescent-shaped wind slash in my direction. The sheer force of it tore through the ground, sending chunks of dirt flying.
I sidestepped, narrowly avoiding the strike, and used my psychokinesis to shove the debris away before it could blind me. Lyra was relentless, following up with a series of rapid slashes, each one aimed with precision.
The match reached a critical point when, after a flurry of movement, I managed to disarm her bow. It clattered to the ground a few feet away, and for a fleeting moment, I thought the duel might be over.
But Lyra wasn't one to go down so easily.
She took a deep breath, her stance shifting. "Fine," she muttered, her voice barely audible. "I don't need a bow to win."
With a burst of wind magic, she closed the gap between us almost instantly. Her movements were swift and unpredictable, each step accompanied by a gust of wind that made it difficult to track her. She lashed out with a series of wind slashes, forcing me to defend with my sword and psychokinesis in tandem.
One particularly powerful strike sent me stumbling back, my feet skidding across the ground. Lyra capitalized on the opening, conjuring a wind shield to block my counterattack before launching herself into a spinning kick. I barely managed to duck in time, the force of her kick creating a shockwave that sent dust flying.
The spectators were enthralled.
"She's incredible," someone murmured.
"But he's holding his own. How is he doing that?" another replied.
I gritted my teeth, my focus narrowing. Lyra's athleticism and relentless attacks were wearing me down, but I could see that she was beginning to tire as well. Her breathing grew heavier, and her movements, while still sharp, lacked their earlier precision.
This was my chance.
I feigned an opening, lowering my guard just enough to bait her into an attack. She took the bait, dashing forward with a wind-enhanced punch. At the last moment, I sidestepped, using my psychokinesis to tug at her momentum and throw her off balance.
As she stumbled, I surged forward, my wooden sword moving in a precise arc. The blade stopped just inches from her neck, signaling the end of the duel.
The training grounds fell silent for a moment before Lady Draymoor's voice rang out. "Winner: Noah Grey."
I stepped back, lowering my sword and taking a deep breath. Lyra remained still, her fists clenched at her sides. She didn't look at me as she walked off the sparring ground, her expression a mix of frustration and something else—determination.
As I left the field, I caught Lyra's gaze. Her eyes, burning with determination, locked onto mine—not with resentment, but with the fierce resolve of a rival.
She didn't say a word, but her expression was clear: Next time, it will be different.
I gave a small nod in return, acknowledging the unspoken challenge. This duel might be over, but it was far from the end.